


Fun times had by all.

by Doyer



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Cannibalism, Gore, Horrorterrors - Freeform, M/M, Possession, Self Harm, Teeth, Torture, Vomit, Voodoo, Vore, blender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 14:40:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8717824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doyer/pseuds/Doyer
Summary: Die finally gets his revenge against the Midnight Crew in a bloody mess of fun, but his plan backfires somehow. It's him against the odds with a little help from voodoo and dark magics.





	

Finally. Giddiness surged through Die like the plague through Europe. From crown and weaving criss-cross patterns down to his soles, pure excitement made his fingers twitch. He dropped down to his already scuffed knees, hands pushed flat against chalk covered stone of a circle. Strange letters and symbols scrawled over lines and swirls, a girthy red candle set at the middle. Lit, melting in thick streams over the stone it resides on. The leprechaun plucks up an item, a silky hat first for this ritual and places it atop his head for now. A cut piece of bloodied cloth has been taken from his victim, courtesy of his ‘friend’ Trace, what needs to be done is strangely difficult. However, the outcome has such a personally pleasing outcome that at this point any cost is as easy to procure as dust. Die spread out the fraction of shirt, making the dried blood as large as possible before digging around in his pants pocket for one of many pins on his person. Once one is produced it is immediately jabbed into the first and second layers of skin covering his pointer finger pad, blood beads up from the prick. The action forces him to wince a bit, hand injuries are never fun. The pin is tossed somewhere, currently useless to him now that its job has been accomplished. It’s simple enough to drip a few glimmery pearls of redness onto the cloth, bleeding into what's already crusted on it. Making old seem fresh again. Then with the deed done it was time for the next step. That cloth is held over the candle’s flame until completely ignited into nothing, but ash. His hand got a lick here and there on his fingers, which was fine, fire is closer than even a best friend could ever be. 

From miles away a man shifted in his recliner. A long yawn escaping him with arms stretched and toes curled inside his shoes. With daybreak nearing everyone in the small hideout felt the drag of bedtime. Droog himself however had somewhat of an obligation to stay up later than the three others. Kind of a protective instinct, primitive in feeling, or so he leads himself to believe. For some reason his fingers jolt softly, flexing inwards as if every joint and shell connecting them were strangely stiff. Which is rather odd. In fact it's forming cramps. No cause for alarm though, he just takes to watching for now as his hand apparently gained intentions of its own. The very curiosity of the situation began to melt into something… More wrong when the corners of his mouth began to twitch, pulling farther and farther upwards into an expression not normally seen on his own features. Grinning. His hand finally allows rest, relaxing his fingers before raising to wave in front of his face. Shiny black carapace conveying a pleasant hello to himself. At that second panic set in and logic is thrown out the window seeing as how his mouth began to run off without Droog just as his hand had. “Oh WoW. i DoN’t SoUnD lIkE eItHeR oF uS. wIrEd. ThIs ReAlLy MuSt Be StrAnGe fOr YoU. pLeAsE aLlOw Me To ExPlAiN, wOuLd You?” 

His own voice stayed inside, nothing following command. Imagine it, a prisoner in your own body. That insane thought alone warranted a chuckle if he could even manage it, Droog wished he were able, but alas. 

The body thief stayed quiet, patiently waiting for a reply. Of which none came, so he went back to try prompting his vessel. The mere fact that Droog wasn’t one to talk much had that unknown grin morph into some non-voluntary pout complete with fattened bottom lip. “CoMe NoW. dOeS tHe MeTaPhOrIcAl CaT hAvE yOuR tOnGuE?.. Oh! oR iS iT jUsT mE?” His body snatcher cackled, rebelling hands clamped tightly around his non existent belly that soon subsided into uncontrollable giggles. “Y-y-YoU’vE rEaLlY gOt.. T-hEh. HeHeHeHe! To S. SeE yOu RiGhT nOw. AlMoSt sAd. HoW tHe MiGhTy FaLl To SuCh LoWs ThAt tHe WoRmS pRaCtIcAlLy SiNg In JoY. oNcE ThIs Is AlL oVeR i ShAlL nEeD tO tHrOw A pArTy. FrIeNdS rEaL aNd ImAgInAtIvE tHe LiKe WiLl Be ThErE… I’m OnLy KiDdInG oF cOuRsE. i HaVe No FrIeNds.” His whole body shifted, sitting the entirely wrong way in that recliner, legs going over to rest over the thick arm and his back pressing to the other in a death pose bring both discomfort to his unused body and displeasure down to Droog’s very core in the fact that his suit is getting wrinkled in this position. 

“Do explain yourself and while you're at it.. Cease this foolishness and sit properly. This suit was quite expensive.” His personal voice echoed and bounced off the walls in his skull, suddenly his mind so full from himself alone. A thought of self-awareness floated around, he'd never felt so… Out of control. Even something so trivial as a thought or words surrounded and engulfed him, this is all he could do and already it was too much. Too loud. Too full. For once he sympathize with the insane who could handle more than just one voice. Bravo. Impressive indeed. 

Now then. The stranger began to grin again, dumb and happy from the exchange. “No. No. No, DrOoGiE. fOr OnCe I fOuNd A gAmE tHaT i CoUlD wIn An-... WaIt. ArE yOu OnLy TaLkInG bEcAuSe Of WhAt I’m PhYsIcAlLy MaKiNg YoU dO rIgHt NoW aNd NoT tHe WhOlE i'M tAkInG yOu OvEr ThInG?” Die had to stop and think about that for a second. No way was he actually going to stop sitting the way he felt most comfortable, but the fact Droog only gave a shit about not his person but his suit. 

“Yes. Let’s say that.” Came a short response.

“... YoU nEeD tO gEt YoUr PrIoRiTiEs STrAIgHt. DaMn.” 

“No. I have my objectives where I need them to be.” Of course this situation bothered him; however diverging that information might show a thread of weakness to whomever had so much control already. Right now thoughts and feelings is all he had to go by and those were going to be kept close. 

Die seemed uneasy with the answer, but went along anyway. Just another reason to be completely and utterly horrified by Droog. A calmness over the man just feels unnatural, that's coming from a guy that uses voodoo on a regular basis and is right now about to screw the possessed person’s life up. Natural doesn't even fit in the description. “OkAy… WeLl I’m. I’m JuSt GoInG tO gEt A mOvE oN.”

Currently the owner of their shared carapace has absolutely nothing to say. No power is with him right now and it isn't like talking could ever get him out of it. Whatever the other has planned he's just going to have to deal with. Which isn't exactly his cup of tea. 

The chair is hopped out of, and Die glances around where they're at. A small space. From the recliner is door about ten feet away and a musty, leather couch is right beside themself. Taking the liberty he's going to guess this is a living room. To his right is a hallway with five doors. All but one marked with a shape for each card suit. He doesn't need to be a genius to tell who's room is whose. That last one though… “ThAt A bAtHrOoM?” The question is for Droog, it isn't answered though. To sooth the query Die strolls over and peaks their head through the door in question. It has nothing in it. “... I gUeSs NoT.” More questions bloom and none are pruned. Okay the door is shut and the one with a diamond is snuck into. No light switch… There is a lamp.. No windows.. “HoW dO YoU lIvE lIkE tHiS?” 

“Clap.”

“WhAt?”

“Just clap. I'm not telling you a third time.” Bitter boredom oozed off every word. Speaking gave Droog such a pounding headache that it had him nauseous. Save it for the important bits. This dumbass can figure it out by himself. 

So he put both rented hands together and the lamp came on. “...” Asking as to why the dersite actually bought a clapper is a waste of breath if he's not going to answer, so on they go. Not much is in here either, two doors leading to wherever, a desk, desk lamp, and a neat bed. Apparently Droog is a minimalist. Behind door number one is the destination that leprechaun was hoping for. A somewhat standard bathroom. Okay not at all. The smell in there is so flowery it might as well be owned by an old woman. Different soaps, colognes, bottles, popery, and even powders were filling this small space to the brim. The worst part to Die had to be the matching seat cover and bathmat. It all forced a shudder down the overlap of his shell segments. This must be what it's like in Snowman’s room. The drawers of the bathroom counter is searched through, a lot of tools were in there that Droog couldn't even use. Like some sort of shaver. If the only reason that his body is being held hostage is because a stalker wants some of his delicates the whole ordeal is going to be very disappointing. Nothing is taken from his bathroom and so Die searches just around, heading next to the desk, where what was found is two pairs of pliers. A thick one for bending strong stuff and a pair of needle nose for whatever. Both are swept off to the bathroom and set down. One hand lifts, cautiously dabbing the softer skin at the edges of the crew member's mouth, a couple soft prods and two fingers slip in. They taste almost like salty rock with an odd gritty texture. His fingers tug and hold tight; revealing sharp yellowed teeth from years of smoking and general oral abuse. Clean though, clearly the toothbrush is used. A hint of pink muscle passes over those rounded knives. Just for the hell of it Die stuck their tongue out. Droog would wince if he could, someone so childish inside of him must be rotting something.   
“WaTcH. tHi-Th.” Fingers in his mouth disrupted the regular flow of speech, and drool found its way out from the dark depths of Droog’s maw. Spilling over in a slight streak. Absolutely disgusting to see himself do. His tongue slithered back inside and scrunched back a bit, making those teeth the stars of the show. Ebony lips draw back, showing off way too much gum for any good smile, his non used left hand goes for the thicker set pliers and red flags shoot up in Droog’s head. For the first time he attempts to will back control, to force the intruder out, and be alone in his skin. It doesn't happen, the other hasn't seemed to notice anything at all, he's just positioning the jaw of his pliers at an easy tooth to grab. Top row first. Then after a good grip and angle is taken he began slowly twisting. The roots of his teeth stayed grounded, firm in place where they shouldn't move. Droog’s eyes went wide, if he were still in control it'd be from fear, these stronger ones looked full of a hope that maybe something could possibly give. Honestly he wasn't sure if what took over could feel pain, actually that gave him an idea. One good plan that just might prolong the inevitable. 

“Before you go dentist on me I'd like to ask. Do I know you?” Genuine interest is the only thing he could manage to muster without sounding too troubled. 

The question did have himself stop, pliers going slack for a moment before being removed entirely to speak easier. “Me? WeLl I’m SuRe If YoU fOuNd Me In PeRsOn I wOuLdN’t LiVe To TeLl ThE tAlE… bEcAuSe, FuLl DiScLoSuRe, YoU sCaRe Me. BuT wItH tHiS i DoN’t HaVe AnY rIsKs To DeAl WiTh. CaLl Me A dEmOn If YoU’d LiKe. I dOn'T cArE.” Who would be stupid enough to give the Diamonds Droog their name right before torturing him? Of course he'd let him live and the dersite could sound crazy trying to explain just what the fuck happened and why he's missing a few parts. Killing him entirely might be a good idea; however having never done this before Die has no clue what happens to the parasite if their host’s life cuts short. Usually it isn't a very good outcome. Best not to risk it for now and further experimentation. 

“... Carry. Carry on then.” Droog’s facade cracked, this is really going to happen. At least he'd be missing teeth and at most… He has no clue what the future holds and whoever is doing this is going to get off scot free. The suspects can be thinned out to be one of three people. Scratch, Stitch, or Die. The others in the felts could probably never even imagine how to pull off such a feat. Scratch wouldn't play with someone like this, Stitch isn't afraid of him, and so that leaves… 

“Die. If you let me be at this second I will make your death painless.” 

“... WhO’s DiE? n-No OnE hErE bY tHaT nAmE. BuSy NoW!” To hurry up and make more than just a spot in Droog’s gums throb Die repositioned the pliers, right hand no longer helping hold his mouth open, but taking place to add strength and help pull those pliers. Both hands really because there started to be give. First an odd sound of something slippery, copper draining out from around the tooth to soak against his tongue, small amounts turning quickly to what may have been a flood. 

Now with permanent teeth the roots are connected to skull bone and roots don't go straight, they curl. A loud crunch and the yellowish thing is halfway removed, while Die felt absolutely nothing the hisses erupting in his head told him his host was not feeling as fine as himself. It’s a good thing Droog can't speak, if he could all the others here would have woken up by now. The used pliers are set down on the sink, porcelain getting little puddles of violence. To see how far left it has to go a few black fingers are slid into their mostly gooey mouth, blood and slobber making everything oh so slippery. The tooth is wiggled a bit, back and forth, side to side, then given a test lick. Which it swings fairly freely.   
“WoNdEr WhAt ThE tOoTh FaIrY’lL bRiNg Me? A QuArTeR? a DoLlAr? HeH hEh. ThE mOrE tHe MeRrIeR.” With that the needle nose pliers are snatched and one prong is slipped between the very thin space of gum and root. The other isn't used at all, it takes only a second to rip the sucker free. It tinks uselessly into the sink, the grimy yellow turned orangish. Die sucks his teeth, collecting every substance he can before spitting up on the borrowed suit being worn. Tie getting the worst of the bubbly slime, only to ooze over the bit of shirt peeking out. Still Droog is too pained to even react with more than sounds. A large, gleeful grin can't even compare to the expression of mock joy worn by the mirror's reflection, taunting the ever loving hell out of the dersite. The other pliers are picked up again to repeat the process, only one hand this time, the other is used to catch what prizes should fall.

Each split and crack signalled more blood flow and another sharp tooth falling out of place. So far Die was getting bored when he got done with half of the top row, seven teeth gone and twenty one left to go. Just to screw him over Die began to remove the half of the bottom row at the opposite side. This would be very, very awful to eat like. Too bad for Droog. After gaining a fist full of teeth Die is still bored, the pain Diamonds has accepted as reality still burns and throbs intensely, but for now the pain is just around the same across the board. Taking that into consideration this time is used to brainstorm. Carapace fingers drum along the sink and counter. Those teeth get stashed into the pants pocket of expensive suit, no doubt staining fabric along the way. What could possibly make an oral injury more painful than it has to be? Eating of course. How could he remove more body parts and eat at the same time… Each finger on the rented hand immediately stops mid tap and they raise closer to his face, ball joints examined and sections of overlapping shell analysed. They seem to be a rather weak area as opposed to the black casing shell itself. Joints have to be non-armored considering that they allow for movement. In order for pain to work it needs to be fresh and old feelings need to subside. Altogether it means fun times with prep work so Droogie boy can mentally and physically rest. To the kitchen… To find what might be at least close to a kitchen!   
Some searching later and a tiny, half kitchen is discovered. Coffee maker, toaster oven, sink, and a fridge. Really not much in here in comparison to the mansion. Maybe it's just his own lavish home life talking, but this is plain sad. He walks themself over to a cupboard and voila, there's a blender. Blender might be too loud. Ah! Knife first. A sharp, pointy section of metal wasn't hard to find, grabbing one pretty quickly from a holder and sat down. He began unbuttoning the bloodied top piece of Droog’s suit, tossing it to the floor with no care at all. Left in a button up shirt, the cuffs are undone and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A long stretch paired with a happy sigh and gravely moan had Die relaxed. Which meant time to pester his host. “OoOoOoOh! AlRiGh’, DrEwG, i'M dIe. Yu’R cUrEcT. BuuuuHt, I dUnNo If YoU cOuLd KeWl MeH aFtEr DiTh.” Every word leaving Die’s mouth stung with a fury, Droog groaned, his tone wavering. 

“Please. Please just shut the HELL up already… Please.” 

Even such a strong man has his limits and the body snatcher is just nudging against all he can take. “DeRe E’ eTh! OvEr Da sH… ShOcK y-Ye? Be G-gLaD ‘m NaW gOnNa CrAcK oPeN yEr ShElL aN' thEe Ef YoU gOt A jElLy CeNtA…” 

“I’d honestly implore you to do that.” Threats won't work with someone so experienced with torture and mind games. Best plan would be to continue letting him rest so the next part hurts more. Die went quiet. Sure he has all of the physical power over the other, horrifying man, but it didn't matter. Droog still knew who really would have control after this was over. At that moment he went back to messing with that knife, the tip digging absentmindedly into a joint connecting his fore finger to their palm. As guessed just by looking at it the soft material connecting shell together split with no effort, a soft sound he couldn't quite place echoed through his thoughts. Metal traces around each joint, separating the sections from each other for slivers of pink meat show through. There was blood. Not enough to be concerning, just enough to raise some questions. Like if this could potentially lead to death by bleeding out if he goes further. The knife is dropped and the first small section of shell leading to the first knuckle is grabbed with an uninjured hand, slowly twisting it around to get a feel if carapace actually connected to anything on the inside. To answer that he simply pulls the tip off, no resistance at all. However when the meat is suddenly exposed it hurts like hell, as if burning from boiling water is the only doable comparison for the feeling. The muscle is pale pink and blue veins clearly seen without protective skin. This got Droog to rejoin the party, sounds Die hasn't even heard before play as a soundtrack for the events they’re sharing. All seemingly bitten back curses and near growls of frustration. It appears that the blood only came from various cuts of veins from the slicing at those joints, they weren't as serious as he once suspected. He continues along, pulling sections of shell off of the tender meat holding his hand together. Next was rather difficult, to remove the center mass of the hand's casing Die placed it to his knee, palm facing up wards and began slamming the knife's handle against it. This took awhile, maybe about five minutes. To be honest the pain from Droog’s mouth still overpowered whatever else could ever be done to him, so basically he's ironclad at this point. In any case, what made this difficult would be the fact that this particular section of shell is actually connected all around Droog’s muscles. So that being discovered when the shell is cracked instead of sliding away it had to be peeled away. The sound is like tape freshly pulled from the roll and how it looks is similar to slowly removing a large scab. There isn't much blood at all, except for when small chunks of hand come away with the shell. Warm blood not soothing anything when it pours, only giving prickly sensations along the pathways chosen. When all done what's left is the floppy hand of a fleshy puppet. Gross. 

The hand is no longer usable. What is somewhat unnerving is that they can see tendons, muscle, veins, and even those tiny capillaries if you stare long enough. Pinkness leaving any flesh that isn't bleeding to change into an odd nearly whitish tone with hints of grey. Now Die would be very interested to know how someone from Prospit looks on the inside. Too bad he doesn't know anyone from there, not yet at least. He glances at the blender. Then to his hand. And back at the blender. With the shell gone blades could munch through this, no problems at all. Plans often do fail, but he's feeling pretty good about this one. Setting up a blender with one hand wasn't too hard, Droog still has one strong gripper that isn’t about to be mulch by the end of it. Lucky him. 

How to make meat pie without a meat grinder. Plug in your blender, place in any sort of protein filled goodness that once had been apart of something living. Your hand should do. Because the hand is still attached the lid doesn't have to go on, but you can place it on your elbow if that sort of thing is amusing. Which it is. Press the lowest, quietest setting. That does in fact mean the blades will spin slower, yes. As soon as the button is pressed Droog put a halt on all whimpering he did watching this horror show and all at once made his opinions known by letting out an ear shattering scream that only one person on the entire planet could ever hear. How special he must be to gain such a privilege from an infamous man. On the outside the blender made a low grinding sound, barely noticeable unless if you were in the room with it and Die hummed along. Waiting for what he was preparing to be done. No bones, no fus. Chunks of now unidentifiable meat churned more and more into some sort of sloppy visara, blades eating into him until hitting the shell that made up wrist. Then he decided to press the off button, all done for now. 

Realistically making this soupy mixture into a pie would take much more time than he has on his hands… Or hand. Cooking in general might burn precious daylight. Die takes the handle of the blender and lifts it, sloshing the goop around for a few seconds before the screams in his head start to become actually annoying. He shrugs, taking the container to his lips and throwing back the homemade mixture. Drinking it wasn't much of an option, some chewy bits needed help. A sort of ground beef and copper chowder texture, taste. Every gummy gulp slithered down his gullet to fill an already gagging Droog’s belly. Pleasantly warm and oddly textured. 

His hand made less than a cup of jelly, the shell had apparently most of the bulk. Their eyes catch the floor, thick drips of life fluids form a puddle under foot. There’s an artery in the wrist isn't there. That would explain why everything is starting to get sluggish. Die sighed, unrolling a sleeve to tie the end of it at his wrist, for now a quick fix should be alright. The knot isn’t very tight though, this last bit of fun better get rushed. Not bothering to put the blender away he ignored it, currently scanning the kitchen for a new toy and scurried back to Droog’s room when one was found. From the bedroom to the bathroom. His hand shook slightly, most of the energy drained by morning adventures and blood loss. Die looked into the mirror, saddened with the fun almost over. Droog’s stollen face looked right back at them in the reflection, discontented droopy eyes blink and only then does either of them get a fine gander at just how dishevelled their physical being is. Blood dribbling from the corners of his lips down his chin and throat, shirt stained with what could be called breakfast, last but not least a red soaked knot at the end of where his wrist should be. It picks up Die’s mood and he raises the toy he found, aiming the pronged end of a fork to their shared right eye. Droog has gone deathly silent in his thoughts, perhaps he'd be passed out if he could be, a shock induced break from all the trauma. Not so strange. The fork slowly slides against the soft material of what makes up an eyeball, popping it open with the help of individual metal spikes. After the fork is stuck and deep enough to stay in place Die churns it, scrambling the whites as fast as he can while red sneaks past his lid to roll down their cheek. Meanwhile Droog’s optical nerve has been pulled from its neatly tucked area to wrap around the prongs attacking it like an organic spaghetti noodle. He tries yanking the fork out only to have it refuse every coax until the pink cord eventually snaps free, coated in clear fluid. Without a second of thought the nerve is shoved into their mouth and slurped off the device that held it. Springy like gum it has a crawl down to drop into the pit of stomach, waiting to join whatever else is there. All at once nothingness cascades from nowhere, Droog falls over prepared to embrace death and Die sits up. His breathing panicked and heavy, the first thing he notices is that the candle's out. The felt member stood, leaving to ask Stitch if he could fix him. Parasite assisting its host. Laughable. 

By the time the designated diamond awakens it's to discover himself stored neatly in a bed, mouth tasting like blood and bandages around his new stump. The lack of depth perception sinks in later, after attempting to grab something off his nightstand only to miss completely. Die is going to become his name sake, soon. Soon. Soon.   
~~~  
That revenge will have to wait. For now the only thing his body can physically take is rest. Being unable to chew or even speak, from the pain of his teeth forcibly removed, Droog has been reduced to an all liquid diet and has to write down whatever he wants to say to whoever may visit. The first thing after waking up was Slick in his face, his sharp teeth snapping a little too close to be comfortable, what a lovely greeting. 

“What in the hell happened?! I had to scrape your bloody ass off the linoleum, and all I have to show for it is a fist full of pearly whites. The fuck, Droog?!” While the man snarled, caught up in the aftermath and not the actual situation, Droog pondered just what happened. Oh yes. What possessed him into self mutilation? Oh how he wonders this. The question eating him up inside. With very little choice on the matter he stays silent, noticing for the first time in his groggy state that his mouth is stuffed with gauze soaked in blood and drool. It just so happens that there seem to be more than just one cause impeding his speech. His boss eventually realizes this, heading off to grab that small blackboard and chalk used for mute people who never learned sign language. These materials are handed off and writing happens when his hand so much as touches the slate. 

It reads as so, “/Give me morphine and I will happily inform you with what I know. I am in a great amount of pain right now./” He holds up the board, waiting almost thirty seconds before erasing it to write down something else. “/And fresh wrappings. I've bled through./” 

Slick grumbled, rolling his iris-less eyes before heading off once more. Either collecting what was asked of him, or ready to round up someone else to do it for him. 

With the one person he doesn't like judging gone it placed an opportune moment right into his awaiting lap. Droog put his hand up close to his sickened lips, spitting out the wads of bandages into the unharmed hand, catching all of it. Nothing but a red ball of warm cloth and goo left him, however even with the purge there came a need to throw up what little substance is still residing in his belly. Remembering what the last thing he ate was absolutely nauseating, but still his stomach gurgled. Hunger telling him to do otherwise. How long has it been since he'd last eaten? What time is it? Droog licked at his gums, finding the gaps sewn closed for healing. It stung horribly, apparently not yet done trickling out tiny amounts of blood. Other than that his mouth felt pretty much okay. However long he’s been in this bed says maybe two days. He needs a shower, a meal, and really, really has to piss. The man sprung out of his bed and shot into the bathroom. 

Holding it for however long has got to be a new record. Spades came back after maybe twenty minutes, a small pack of crew right behind him. Meanwhile Droog had just stumbled back out of his restroom only to be tackled by a very tiny Clubs. Hugging onto a still not so pleased Diamonds who patted his head like a good child. For now the intense pain in Droog’s missing hand and eye minimally ignored. Phantom limb already making his life worse than it needs to be.   
He threw away the bandages while in the bathroom and made sure to hang the slate around his neck for quick access. 

Slick was the first to speak up, clearing his throat awkwardly. “So uh. I got your shit and the guys wanted to see how you're holding up. Got those answers you owe us?” 

This is mulled over for a moment to collect every bit of knowledge about the situation he could, nodding right when everything was sure. 

Having only a board to communicate with it took most of his time writing, now taking a seat on the bed. Deuce still firmly attached to his leg. “/I've seen first hand that Die is now able to/” the chalk stops, waiting to find any good word for how to describe his experience. Then went back to writing when one was found. “/posses people. I don't know how, but he can./” 

Time for questions: Boxcars grunted, leaning back against the bedroom door. “So we gotta go kick ‘is ass. No good sitting here like ducks if we don't know how he does this shit. He could go for anyone ‘a us at any moment.” A good point, everyone of the crew had a realization fall over them like an avalanche. A dark, brewing feeling that there's no reasonable escape and no way to tell how or when an attack would come. His board is erased and he writes down an idea. 

“/We can keep watch on each other. One is assigned to another. However that might not work with Boxcars. No offence./”

“None taken. I'm big. I know it.” 

Slick butted in again, “Boys! I got an idea. We figure out how the hell that felt fuck managed to take over Droog. Then use that against all of them.” 

“How?” The hulking brute leaned over his boss, skeptical look over his face.

“We break in, sneak around, find him, and have a chat. Done deal.” Slick grinned, figuratively patting himself on the back for thinking of what he thinks is the world's easiest plan. 

“Droog’s outta commission, Boss, and we ain't so agile. Don't seem so smart a plan ta sneak in.” 

“I can be quite. Hey, we still got those blue prints of the Felt’s place?”

“Yeah, we should. Somewhere ‘round ‘ere.”

“Then I could sneak in all quiet like and get the job over with.” 

Those two bickered and Droog couldn't take it anymore, clutching at his stump while pain stacked. The more he thought about it the worse it got and that just made him focus harder, a vicious cycle he couldn't break. It felt like his hand clenched, cramped, cracked. Sweat collected at his joints, soaking into the sleep wear he currently had on. His breathing picked up and his heart can't keep with the pace. He's never begged in his entire life, but now desperation clawed his insides, fire blazing through him. It hurt so much the board isn't even considered as an option to pass this message along. “Pleeethe. Githe meh…” That weak voice held faintly to the air, carried along like it wasn't even there. It got everyone's attention. Slick searched his pockets for the strongest off brand stuff he could get, not bothering with even handing them to the pained man. Droog was so broken he didn't care about being dignified, his mouth opened up with an ah. Four pills are placed on his discolored tongue and they're swallowed dry.   
~~~  
After Droog is given the attention he needs the rest of the crew leave, sleep being a much better option than them bothering him any longer. Deuce volunteered to make some soup for his friend to eat. It felt like an easy task for him while the other two put their heads together, trying hard to figure this out. The man slept like a rock after those meds kicked in, he has no idea where Slick got them, but they're the best working stuff he's ever had. Even in his sleep something didn't feel right, his pains dull and throbbing but still there in nothingness. Someone broke the great, powerful Droog. Man without emotions, reduced to shards of ebony porcelain. 

One gone, three left.  
~~~  
There's never enough preparations. All different colors of candles, bribes for Stitch, extra chalk, and a knife sharpener just in case. The last objects needed would be a challenge to procure, blood from the rest of the midnight crew. For once if he handicapped all four of them he'd be praised. No longer would the rest call him useless. Finally something only he can do. Inexplicably the leprechaun began to itch, skin prickling like nettles. He couldn’t resist raking at his skin unconsciously, ants creeping inside and under his muscles. Whatever. It doesn't matter. Die paced around his domain, nails grating at the flesh of his arm idaly. A new decision had to be made. Who to take possession over next? Who made the most of a threat? Slick is dangerous with a knife and insults. Boxcars though… He has physical power. Both have a reasonably good head on their shoulders. Then there's Deuce. Innocent and dumb. Now for once he may prove useful, no one would even suspect if he just doesn't blow any cover… Trace is going to get a call. The shark can sniff out any blood left by Clubs by following the past. That's what he does. Has he even bled here, or have any of the felts hurt that little guy at all? The man growls to himself, nails breaking his skin as he gripped his arm harder. What warmth beaded up calmed the ants under layers of flesh, pain only noticed as a pinch. A giggle rips from his throat. Of course. It's so simple! A new discovery ought to be made. To throw a veil over the host’s continuousness, forget the experience… No. No. Take out Boxcars. Make him disappear. If he heals after torture is done then… No. More giggles flow forth, each one crawling deeper. “Take his strength… Take his livelihood.”   
~~~   
That night Die asked Trace to search the mansion for any signs of blood belonging to Boxcars. If Slick has everyone around him fall then he too will collapse. How does one kill a man? A life of loneliness. To be without those who make your life whole. True torture. It didn't take long for the ritual to begin, same as before, only one step changed.   
~~~  
Boxcars and his boss still bantered back and forth, planning the safest course of action. Deuce would stay and care for Droog while they went to pull that pin from their asses. In the middle of a word his lips stopped without him, voice cutting the big man off and Slick kept on yapping to him. He smiled, stolen gaze drinking in the revisited surroundings. “We CaN dO WhAtEvEr YoU lIkE, bOsS.”

“Hearts, what the hell’s wrong with your voice?” Slick squinted, utter confusion laced in his own tone and splashed over his face. 

“jUsT a FrOg. NoThInG wRoNg.” Die cleared their throat, melding what he can into one. “How about. YoU. You go along with your plan. I'm tired of fighting when I cannot win.” 

With the other forced to concede the true dersite crossed his arms, smugness setting in. “Aight. I'll go and pay Die a visit, you and Deuce watch each other. Better get. Like you said, “we’re just sitting ducks here.” With that the small man turns to leave, “Keep those two safe.”

“DoN’t WoRrY. i WiLl.” He takes a good look at his hands. They look like big, strong hands don't they? Boxcars doesn't have to make any sounds, nothing can stop Die, nothing will stop him. He'd only hope Slick hurries.   
The leprechaun hums in the carapace’s gravely emphasis, thick fingers tapping along the walls and nearby furniture.   
“Oh WhAt. Oh WhAt WiLl i Do? HoW sHaLl I bEgIn ThE fUn?” The diamond door creaks open and a rather little man tiptoes out, staying silent as to not wake whoever is sound asleep in there. “YoU’lL dO jUsT fInE…”

Deuce tilted his head, blinking at the larger guy. “hi, boxes. did slick go?”

“YeAh. I’m HeRe To PrOtEcT yOU.”


End file.
